


The Second Time We Met

by MrsHouseWife



Category: Chris Evans - Fandom
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Explicit Language, F/M, Flashbacks, How Do I Tag, I'm Bad At Summaries, Meet-Cute, New Writer, Short One Shot, inspired by a charlie puth song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHouseWife/pseuds/MrsHouseWife
Summary: Chris Evan's and his new wife look back on their embarrassing second meeting.





	The Second Time We Met

**Author's Note:**

> I am new to writing so constructive criticism is very welcomed!  
> I am writing a collection of drabbles centred around original characters meeting Chris Evans based on my dream jobs growing up.  
> It is totally self indulgent and I am not sorry about it :)

Leah fought a shiver. Her dress, long-sleeved but backless, offered little protection against the mild Boston night. She felt Chris’ hand move from her shoulders and trailed a pleasant warmth to the small of her back. They paused at tables to receive repeated congratulations and well wishes, before Chris tugged her gently forward for their first dance as husband and wife.

With a flick of his wrist, Chris twirled her onto the dance floor. She felt the weight of her beaded dress settle against her legs as the first bars of their wedding song began to play. Leah couldn’t help but giggle. She’d only been joking when suggesting this should be their song. Charlie Puth softly crooned One Call Away. There were waves of laughter as guests picked up on the private joke. The first reference to Superman had her brother-in-law giggling. While certainly not his most hard-hitting role, Chris’ portrayal of Captain America was one of his most recognised.

Leah still couldn’t believe it – loving and being loved by Chris Evans, Hollywood heartthrob, talented actor and all around good guy.

They’d met while she’d been working as a set designer on the New York indie film that Chris directed. Their first meeting had been professional and courteous; their second a little more embarrassing. Hearing Leah softly laughing, Chris pressed his lips to her ear, and in a cheeky whisper, asked “What’s making you giggle Mrs Evans?”

As those lips trailed slowly, and pressed a soft kiss into Leah’s hairline, she whispered “The second time we met…”

**2 years earlier**

Chris cut across the film lot that housed the set of his next directed feature film. It was early, probably around 3am, and he had come out one last time before filming kicked off to breathe in the atmosphere and enjoy the quiet of the empty set. The quiet didn’t last long; faint music and a soft glow from the door of the last stage set divulged that he wasn’t alone. As he neared the open doorway he could hear animated –definitely female – chatter. The bubbly, musical tones drew him closer to the doorway, until he could finally make out a conversation, although one-sided.

“I need to get laid,” declared the distinctly-accented female voice, “but there is like no one in this town.”

As the conversation continued, Chris drew on until he could see a young woman perched on a ladder, holding a small paintbrush. Her red hair was piled haphazardly on top of her head; it seemed to shine all the brighter under the stage lights and against her outfit of all black. The slender woman gave a self-deprecating laugh.

“Well, there’s men, obviously, but they either wear a suit, talk only about money or they’re so hipster they smell like dumpsters.” She brought her brush forward and touched up a small section of the trim of the set, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. “Gosh, it’s got to be 12 months at least. Shit I need to get laid.”

By now Chris had noticed the woman was wearing headphones and had not heard his approach. Amused, he crossed his arms and settled in against the door frame. “I’ll get laid when I come home,” she confessed. “I’ve already waited 12 months, what’s another 4?”

Chris waited until she’d settled her paint brush against the tin before clearing his throat loudly. She jumped – and though the ladder wobbled, remained safely in her perch. When both legs of the ladder were firmly on the ground she turned her head and met his gaze. “Uh, Jen… I’m gonna call you back.”

She pulled the headphones from her ears and fumbled her phone, endearingly clumsy, before saying, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise anyone else was here.”

Chris could now tell, having worked with Hemsworth, that the accent was Australian. He had a vague memory of having met her before. She replaced the paint lid. As she started climbing down the ladder, she said, “I’m finished up now, so I’ll get out of your hair.”

Chris pushed off the door frame and made his way into the room to have a look around. “Now you’re all set for filming tomorrow.”

“No worries,” Chris responded.

The set dressers had been in days earlier to deck the room out as a simple family kitchen, only of only a few stage sets being used in the film. “I thought the crew was finished with painting last week?”

“Well, I did a walk through earlier this evening and I just wasn’t happy with the trim in this corner, so I… snuck in to fix it.” She giggled at her own silly statement and then visibly sobered. “I’m sorry, Mr Evans, I know I should have gone through the right channels, but it would’ve slowed filming down for tomorrow, and it’s my first solo set design job and I just wanted it to be perfect.”

She looked up and met Chris's eyes. Hers, blue and ringed with a darker navy, focused on his. Chris remembered one of the producers introducing him to her earlier in the process. An up and coming set designer, he recalled. Lee… Leia… no, Leah.

“It’s fine,” he said, waving away her fresh objection. “I appreciate it. It’s nice to have such dedicated people working on the project.” He paused, raised a brow. “And it’s Chris.”

The last was delivered with the trademark cheeky smile. “Leah,” she responded.

“I remember.” Leah seemed to realise, all of a sudden, exactly who she was talking to and exactly what she’d been talking about before he’d made his presence known.

The entire repertoire of her facial expressions seemed forced upon her in an instant. She blushed, stumbling over her words. “I was chatting to a friend back home. Australia. It’s always the best time to talk at 3am. ”

Hoping to relieve some of the woman’s embarrassment, Chris raised a blasé shoulder. “How long have you lived in New York?”

She sent him a side-long glance that told him she didn’t quite believe she was off the hook. “9 years in the US,” she said. Her blush had retreated to two spots of colour high on her cheekbones. “I was at UCLA first on a student visa, and moved to New York for work about 3 years ago. I’m trying to get a permanent residency but it’s taking a while.”

“You miss home?”

“Very much. But I love my work. Speaking of which, I really should go and put these back.” Her tone was brisk; her motions quick.

Setting the paint can and brush on the ground, Leah began to pack down the ladder. For just a moment, Chris watched her and weighed the sensible and the professional against all those slender lines and red hair. With the confidence of someone in the grip of a total lack of self-awareness, he decided on restraint.

Leah paused when Chris’s hand fell next to hers on the now-folded ladder. “Here, I’ll grab that. You worry about the paint.”

She agreed with a nod, and Chris hefted the ladder under an arm. They walked silently back to the stage store room where they returned the ladder and paint. There, Chris pretended to survey his surrounds while watching Leah wash out the paint brush in the industrial metal tub. She was a far bit shorter than him, probably no more than 5’2” in her ballet flats. A peaches and cream complexion went hand in hand with the deep red hair that invariably drew his attention. A small smattering of freckles across her nose spoke of a make-up free face. She looked up and caught him shamelessly staring. Her pupils dilated and her hand gripped the paintbrush tightly. Then, after a moment where he actually wondered whether he would be the lucky recipient of a proposition for a romp in the store room, she bent her head again to her task, although she now rinsed the brushes more forcefully. It seemed his unlooked-for attraction wasn’t one-sided. Chris grinned. He liked that she wasn’t shy around him, or openly star stuck either. When the flow of water stopped and Leah turned to face him, he didn’t hide his blatant appreciation.

Leah smiled. “Well, good night, then,” she said, and stepped past him.

She made it out the door before Chris roused himself from the confusion at her easy dismissal of what he’d thought, only seconds before, had been a pleasantly growing attraction between them. Her drew even with her in a few strides.

“I’ll walk you to your car.” She raised a quizzical eyebrow at his offer, and he continued, “It’s the least I can do to say thanks for your dedication.”

He saw her wrinkle her brown and wondered if she was struggling to think of something to say. They finally reached Leah’s car. She popped the lock and extended her hand to the driver’s door, and Chris had a sudden thought of her disappearing back into the anonymity of the hundreds of people who worked on his set. Before she had the chance to reach the door handle, he said,

“So, is it all American men you won’t sleep with or just the New York ones? ‘Cause, technically, I’m from Boston.”

Leah dropped her hand with a start. A slow smile broke out into a full-on grin. “I’ve slept with American men, dated them too,” she said confidently.

She turned and looked straight up at Chris. Without batting an eyelash, she stated, “Never a Boston man, though. That would be something new I would love to try.” Smiling to herself at his somewhat shocked expression, she quickly opened her door. She slid into the seat gracefully. “That’s if I can find anyone willing. See you tomorrow.”


End file.
